Pages

Monday, May 15, 2006

listen to me. look at her.

june carter, ladies and gentlemen. she's real. i think i've harvested her spirit. where i've been digging, i think i've uprooted something realistic in the way the eyes can trap a way of life.

i've found june carter and on the eve of a killing she's made decades tap like unsynaptic bookends. count the words of separation on a leper's fingers. she's calling home to check the wooden houses and shaking the corners free from the cobwebs of clockwork.

june carter left a stockcar driver to be in love. she left the ring at home when she locked the door, a spiral to pawn or packrat. she left until the day she came back to stay back. she left a house to make a home.